


A Bold Thief

by imadra_blue



Category: Final Fantasy XIII
Genre: Background Femmeslash, Canon - Video Game, Character Study, Drama, F/F, Gen, Missing Scene, POV Third Person, Vignette, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-08
Updated: 2010-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-09 23:59:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imadra_blue/pseuds/imadra_blue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fang had felt pain before, but never like this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Bold Thief

**Author's Note:**

> Warning(s): Spoilers for entire game, non-explicit references to torture  
> Disclaimer: _Final Fantasy XIII_ and all its characters are property of Square Enix Co., Ltd. No copyright infringement is intended.  
> Notes: A little writing exercise as I slowly dip my toes into the shiny new fandom.

At moments such as these, perception changes. Memory disentangles itself from consciousness, robbing you of past and future. The present swallows your existence whole. What it leaves you with is something described with a deceptively simple word: pain.

True pain is not like stubbing your toe on the chair. True pain consumes your body, your mind, your soul. You are left with only a voice that can scream. You do not think. You only dwell on how it consumes you, how it defines you, how it bloody well fucking hurts. You do not even think about stopping it. That is a secondary thought, one buried in your subconscious, an after-effect. You do not actually think about how badly you want it to stop until it actually does. That is when thought returns to you, however briefly, until it is once again stolen away, along with the person you used to be before the pain.

Oerba Yun Fang felt pain before. She spent her life fighting, clawing, scraping, surviving. Her life was a flurry of movement and feeling--and pain prowled amongst the sensations that defined her. She knew the pain of a behemoth tusk grazing her thigh. She knew the pain of an opponent's blade sliding through her belly, leaving behind only the faintest trace of a scar. She knew the pain of a l'Cie brand burning into her flesh. She knew the pain of leaving Euride Gorge alone. She knew the pain of finding her home filled only with the murmured echoes of her people. She knew the pain of seeing her new family transformed into living dead bred by fal'Cie whim.

But she had not known this pain before. This is the pain of her entire being encapsulated by agony. This is the pain of utter loneliness. The pain of discovering a world bereft of benevolence, a world where choice belonged to others, a world lacking divine grace. This is the pain of Orphan.

But the pain is not consistent. There are moments when Fang awakes, as if from a nightmare of her own making. A nightmare where she peered into the mirror and saw Orphan's desperation in the glint of her own eyes. When she wakes, her body is soothed with the blue of the ocean, the blue of her mother's eyes, the blue of Vanille's fingertips under the blanket that first time they found each other. A small comfort meant to prepare her for more pain.

"Let go," she manages to croak in those moments, as if swimming up from the depths of the ocean to catch a breath before submerging again. It is not a plea. It is not. She will not let it be.

"Become Ragnarok again and bring forth divine awakening," the pain tells her.

But thought is as broken and inconsistent as the pain. The pain is a black ocean, and thought white fire. She does not break, but she bends. She wants her existence returned to her. She wants what the pain stole. "What do you want from me?"

"Hatred which strengthens resolution. Grief which brings forth awakening."

In another moment of thought, Fang grasps the floating realization that her question was as useless as the answer. She possesses neither hatred nor grief any longer. She only possesses pain and thought. They define her, alternating like two sails on a windmill, endlessly spinning, perhaps rotating themselves free of their moorings. Would she ever be free to crash back down to the ground, to reality? Another useless question. Instead, she thinks of the girl behind her, the girl who burns red at the center of her heart, the heart that pain stole from her, along with her past and her future. But maybe it did not steal it all, for something like anxiety builds up inside her. Like a clumsy surgeon, Orphan left Fang with shreds of her heart, a heart as bright as Vanille's hair.

"Vanille. Run." An act of defiance. It sounds like her. Who she used to be would approve.

It is Vanille's voice that cuts through the pain, robbing it of its power. "No!" she cries, her voice not unlike the nights they once spent together in Oerba, when they laid pressed together underneath the blankets, skin to skin, heart to heart, separated only by bone and skin, heartbeats alternating, first Fang, then Vanille, then Fang again. Like pain and thought, each had its turn.

"I won't run anymore," Vanille insists, somewhere far away, out of Fang's grasp. "I made a promise! I am not running. I am facing my destiny!"

But then there is pain again, stealing Fang's reaction. Pain is a bold thief. It cuts you before it steals your purse, right before your eyes. You can see it approaching, yet you cannot stop it. Pain is a juggernaut, stronger than any that guard treasures on Pulse.

"Fang!"

The pain shatters, leaving Fang behind. She is raw and ripe for the picking, but she finds her belongings right where they were before the theft. Pain stole nothing from her. It only deceived her. Fal'Cie smoke and mirrors, as Lightning says. They speak as they step out, those four others that became planets to revolve around Vanille's sun, a completed solar system. Their new family. Though Fang sinned, her redemption glimmered in each of their human forms.

Fang knows Vanille is smiling. She has to be. If Vanille does not smile, then the world does not deserve to exist. Cocoon deserves to crash to surface of Pulse and shatter into dust. But since Vanille must be smiling, the world deserves its salvation, as does Fang. Vanille's smile erases the memory of the pain.

"You came back," Fang tells them. She smiles, too, perhaps with her mouth, but also deep inside, with her heart.

It was not only her family that came back. She returned with them. She is not alone--she is not an Orphan. She never will be. In the resolve written boldly across the faces of her family below, all firm-set jaws and furrowed brows, Fang finds the promise of crystal lakes and divine miracles.

Oerba Yun Fang is not Ragnarok. She is one of the miracle makers.


End file.
